PostMortem
by Arrice
Summary: Dick and Tim adjusting after Bruce's death
1. Chapter 1

The realization hits him like a truck; the realization that when Tim--Robin--calls the name 'Batman' at his side, it's him. His name.

Tim's worried about him, as he should be. Seeing how Dick hasn't eaten in days except for a few slices of bread, maybe a loaf or two. The epiphany comes to Tim in the middle of early morning, before the sun peaks, hits Wayne Manor with its rays.

He walks, long strides down the hallway to Dick's room. His new room as he was designated master of the house. The door doesn't creak, it slides open easily and Tim looks toward the bed in the dark. Dick is not there, the bedding is almost perfect as if the man merely sat there for a period of time, then left for something else.

As he closes the door, he knows where his older brother must be.

It's a short walk to Bruce's room; the door is already cracked and he can hear Dick's breathing come through the silence of the manor. Tim takes slow, light steps inside, standing behind the figure of his brother. The man doesn't move from the bed, just lies there, dressed only in one of Bruce's button-up shirts.

It's hard for Tim to place his hand on Dick's shoulder and say, whisper his name. He can feel a shuddering breath under his palm before Dick is shifting.

"I…I almost--I almost forgot he's gone, Tim. I--I forgot that I'm not Nightwing anymore. I thought I could come home…hug him--love him."

"Dick…it's alright."

"No--it's not. I thought he could--"

"I know."

"I was forgetting. So I had to remind myself."

"Don't do this."

"I hate him."

"You don't. You never."

"I hate him for making me into this. Into *his*."

There's a moment of comprehension, a moment for Tim to understand. He strokes a line up Dick's spine, along the expensive fabric before he lies down to wrap himself around he man.

Dick turns in his arms, blue eyes glinting slightly in the dim light.

"Tim…"

"Shh…you don't have to."

The morning is silent, Bruce's bed is warm with their bodies, and Tim understands.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim's opinion of Thomas Elliot would never change, not even because he looks almost exactly like the man Tim loved--*loves*. He watches the man through the security feeds from Hush's cell to the Batcave, every day, every night like it consumes his life now, less then Gotham, but still...

It's an obsession, maybe because now more then ever he realizes Bruce is gone. Jason and Dick catch on fast, they notice these things because well, they have to now. Jason's staying closer at Tim's side, maybe only because he wants to get glimpses of the man he once loved, face cut and sewn to look like the young man's first mentor.

Jason isn't allowed to visit Tommy, nor does he ever ask to.

It's Tim weekly personal check-up on their prisoner and he is playing along like the perfect captive, but that's all it is: playing. Tim knows even if the others don't, but it's these moments where he wishes he could drop the man to the bottom of Gotham Harbor.

Tommy smiles every time Tim pulls up the single chair and looks at him through the clear cell walls. "He was fucking you," the man says this time. He tips his head to the side just a bit, blinks and laughs. Tim does nothing but watch, seeming perfectly content.

"He was, I can tell. *That's* why it's always you. It could just as well be Grayson."

"Or Jason," Tim says quickly.

"How is that fine piece of--"

"He's fine. And he doesn't love you anymore."

"He says that everyday to himself like he's trying to make it true."

"It is true."

There's a sly little grin across the man's face--Bruce's face--and Tommy sits back on his bed and watches Tim over the rise of his chest. "But I'm the only person who understands him, knows his body, how to--"

"I'm not here to talk about him."

"You're not here to talk."

"You're right."

"But...you *were* being fucked by him."

"My life is none of your business."

Tommy's standing against the cell wall, watching the small movements of Tim's body, watching his blue eyes flicker. There's a few minutes of silence before the man speaks again, "I think some days you wish I were Bruce."

"Never."

"Ah, so maybe now you and Jason are--"

"Maybe, maybe not. I wouldn't tell you either way."

"You remind me a lot of Bruce. Tell me...how did he die."

"Like a hero."

"That's what your kind always says."

"He didn't run and he wasn't afraid."

"*Right*."

"You may have known him during childhood, but you don't know the man he grew into."

"How old were you?"

"Old enough to know what I was getting myself into."

"Hmph...good enough answer for me." 


End file.
